Attention, This is Reserved for a particular individual who has yet to show his face, but has deigned to offend me with his presence regardless. I noticed you at the Officer's Masquerade yesterlight. As I write this message, I am ashamed to admit I did not recognize you by any mannerisms or demeanor. Rather, it was the cologne in which you have so carelessly drenched these letters. I first realized it when my gills burnt with that familiar resonance of disgust I Reserve for the likes of you. My suspicions were only confirmed when I took Inventory of you in full. Your cufflinks were haphazardly dangling from your cuffs. Your lapel pin was a half inch too low. Only a fool like you could have made such a dire mistake. It was, of course, I with whom you shared that drink on the balcony. You tricked me, you know. I looked into that drinking Ceremony you sold me on beneath the whispers of sunlight peering through the once-dusk clouds. You made us lock arms and curve them back, intending to drink from our own cups. I know now that you jerked your arm intentionally. The Reserve you spilled on my suit in that moment was worth more than your entire sweep's worth of payroll, you know. Poured for me by the Empress's Staff as a celebration of my achievements in the field. Strange how you did not have such an Honor. The only Honor you had of me that night was Witnessing my chest bare and vulnerable for the briefest moment as my staffers retrieved my secondary Uniform. I had come prepared. Of course, you had to make a spectacle of my embarrassment. You wanted me to challenge you to that sabre fight, did you not? It was your goal. You aimed for my thumper, whilst I aimed for your structural shortcomings. I ponder these moments of ours. You remain curious to me. Note, for the sake of Chittr's Content Policy: #violence, #gore, #Dueling, #substance Signed and Ratified, Marech Veylor 1st Officer of the Threshecutioner Reserve

